


✧♚ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃 ♚✧

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Coming of Age, Dark Fantasy, Drugged Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fear Play, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Historical Fantasy, Jealousy, Killing, Kings & Queens, Manipulative Relationship, Narcissism, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Princes & Princesses, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Rape, Rape Fantasy, Royalty, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Sibling Rivalry, Somnophilia, Swords, Taboo, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 10:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Prince Alex is perfect in every sense of the world; divine, powerful, beautiful, strong.He resents the older sister that rivals him, his hatred of her bordering on obsessive, morphing into deep love, twisting into violent, repulsive, possessive lust.He can't keep his hands off her.He'll have her even if she is the Queen and he is just a Prince.
Relationships: Prince Alexander/Princess Elyssia, Prince/Princess
Kudos: 21
Collections: Anonymous





	✧♚ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃 ♚✧

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, just some things to set out...  
> This isn't restricted to any particular historical period. It's a fantasy combining ancient, medieval, renaissance and early modern ideas from Europe and Asia. 
> 
> Hope you Enjoy!

He remembered being a child, as if it were decades and decades ago.   
  
At three years old, his memories began.  
  
The King was certainly never around, but his mother did. He recalled fondly, a presence that existed as a cloud of soft hugs, kisses and perfumes. Kisses that were gone by the time he turned six. 

He'd never thought to ask why she vanished. He'd never had the interest to overhear where, when she'd be back. Part of him still held a grudge against her for never being seen again. 

Though, these thoughts lingered in the depths of his chest, second to the pounding of his heart as he sprinted along the open fields and up stairs and spirals, grinning from ear to ear. He did have a fun childhood. He enjoyed toying with swords longer than his legs, terrifying the servants by practising severing their nervous heads. He adored the way the earth would flinch as he pulled the trigger of his shotguns, fired at fleeing birds, leaves and even winds.  
  
The whole world fled from him, as terrified and frantic as it should be. 

Prince Alexander's world was not his for long.   
  
Mother was quickly replaced with another woman; one with less kisses and more scolding remarks. He adored her though, for unlike the last wench, she did not abandon him. She stayed with him, teaching him things he didn't care for, taking up the most of his free time. Lady Aris was too old and ugly to be a Queen or even a whore of the King. That suited him perfectly though, as he perfectly adored the disapproving wrinkles around her lips and the tired greys in her brown her.   
  
He grew to care for reading, only when her voice read to him.  
  
_He had a servant killed for daring to try read to him while she was away._  
  
That night, when he learned she was away due to a headache, he decided to pay her a visit and read to her for a change. 

As the years went by, Alex learned to climb the complicated exterior of the old stone castle with one hand. He learned to lift enormous swords with effortless flicks of his wrist, a prodigy before he was even ten years old.   
He had no doubts about his own excellence.   
He was a genius, an intelligent, divine, holy being of both body and soul. One the entire world deserved to bow to, to beg for, to be under. He couldn't wait for the day he was welcomed to the throne as the rightful ruler of their world. He was confident, that there were none more deserving than him.   
  
That changed the day he met _her._

Of course, he knew he had an older sister. He'd just never met her. He'd never put it into question, never asked for a picture of her, never cared. At nine years old, he was informed abruptly by his dear Lady Aris that _She_ would be visiting.   
  
She was seven years his senior, sixteen years old, yet already taking the throne.   
  
There was no need for him to care for the loss of the throne. None at all. He was spectacular with or without it.  
Yet his muscles felt like stiff bricks knowing it had been snatched from him without him even noticing.  
Now, he was noticing a lot. It was the glass keeping knowledge away from him all his life had been smashed open - he was learning. He learned that their father was ill, had been in since early that year, sustaining damage from a battle, and would soon be dead.  
  
_If anyone cared, it was not Prince Alex._

But maybe, just maybe _She_ did. After all, the crown Princess and him had been raised apart; her in the palace and him out here. Supposedly, to avoid one attempting to murder the other to secure power. A reasonable concern.   
  
Conveniently, approaching her accession, this sister wished to meet him.  
  
All day the prince felt rigid, clinging to Aris when he could, kicking stones in his polished black shoes when he couldn't. He'd raised petulant concerns that she would be coming to kill him - to remove a threat.   
He was informed that with her already on the throne, that was of no concern to her. To him, this was an obvious lie and an excuse the idiotic adults could not perceive. He didn't want to meet her. He didn't want to call her Queen or show her an ounce of respect. He'd never been around someone ranked higher than him in his life! Even Lady Aris, who scolded him and bossed him around was ranked below him.  
  
In his frustration, he ran away, into the depths of the castle, seven stories up, a dot among cold, empty stairs of marble. They'd never find him - he'd been raised here. In this countryside, in this marvellous castle made for him and owned by him, that nobody knew this home better than him.   
  
On second thought, he'd better not hide.   
He'd better kill her on sight. Where better to do it then his terrain?   
  
Grabbing his shotgun, he climbed hastily, silently downwards, on an unconventional path, clinging to the intricate stone walls.   
They weren't hard to find.  
  
She was in a small procession, ten to twelve figures standing around one tall, blurry centre he wished he had a better view of. He stalked slightly closer, keeping distance because he knew royal guards were sharp.   
  
The back of her head unveiled itself to him for the first time. An enchanting crown of feminine diamond ovals formed a halo about her. He almost laughed because his crown was far bigger, and he was nine! He didn't though, holding in his breath and bending down so he was flat as a shadow against the ceiling. All of gravity tugged against him, his white silk clothing tilted up, his gold hair stretching down.   
It was hard to prevent the strain of his muscles, shaking as he straightened his arm, aligning the gun with her pretty little head and took aim. His finger traced the trigger, heart racing, having never shot a live person before.   
  
He couldn't wait for the blood. It would be like shooting a pigeon, only far, far better-  
A blur of violent noise struck him as the world spun, all figures suddenly facing him. Something brutal and awful struck him and pulled him to the floor.   
"Why you absolute-!" He was about to execute the scum that dared to lay a hand on him himself, when a noble, echoing voice touched every goose bump on his skin.   
  
"Unarm him."   
  
Alex took far too long to register the words, eyes going wide when he did, but he was too late. He made a note of the guard's face, making sure he would hold a grudge. Only then, did he remember that he was in the face of the Queen. No doubt, some spoiled ungrateful bitch who thought herself better than him. Straightening up, the Prince made to slam her world down with only his eyes the way he always did.   
  
When he ended up stricken himself, he was shocked.   
  
Queen Elyssia was a mirror of him.  
  
They stood, several wavelengths apart, yet connected at the unique turquoise blue of their eyes. She wore white silk, just like him. His clothes fell loosely off him, comfortably elegant and slim. Hers cupped her figure at the waist before departing out into huge, cleanly ruffles of fabric so plentiful and beautiful his gut curled with envy.   
  
He didn't want to, but he _had_ to marvel at her now that she faced him, because she was more picturesque than any fairy tale illustration he'd ever seen. He hated it. She was everything he wished to be and more. She was a living painting of power and ease, and she was just like him. They had the same slender nose, the same plush lips, the same neat hazel brows and the same colour of golden hair that everyone he'd ever met had called divine.   
  
Only she was more divine than him.   
  
Alex was glaring hotly as she advanced in a slow, almost ghost like movement, not a step, nor a bounce of her ridiculously long, ridiculously thick, wavy golden hair made a sound. Her marvelled at her hair. It captured the streaks of the sun so vividly, he almost forgot his hatred, weak in the knees and unable to move. Then at last, she was standing politely before him, a smile on her closed mouth.   
  
"So this is the brother I've longed to meet for so long," she pronounced again, elegantly. It was as if the words weren't coming from her mouth, but from every particle of sunlight and warm air around them.   
His eyebrow twitched but he could not do more than hold her gaze and clench his jaw as she came close.   
  
"Do you not share the same sentiment?"   
  
"Your majesty-" the guard carrying his gun worried.   
  
"Do not fear," she momentarily informed him, before tilting her slender, breakable neck back to him with another ever so slight, yet every so powerful motion.   
Suddenly he snapped.   
  
"I have no intention to bow to a woman like you, Princess. You will not address me as brother or any such term. My name is Prince Alexander and you will do well to remember it."   
  
His three seconds of power were over the moment she tilted back her wonderful neck and laughed. Not even Lady Aris' rare laughs were that pretty. It made him blush, confused and ashamed with his mouth apart. Then all at once the Queen grabbed him and he was squeezed into her enormous dress and her warm, bare arms and skin.   
She gave no regard for how her feathery hair tickled him, or how her perfume brushed off on him. Not even the way her ample breasts pressed down on him behind plush layers of ruffled silk as she kissed both of his cheeks.   
  
"Oh my you are so cute! You and me will be excellent friends, Prince Alexander."   
His stomach felt weak, tears of humiliation threatening to prick at his eyes. Thrown off his pedestal, looking up at her height, up shined in every way by her enormous clothing, hair and presence, he almost broke into a tantrum.   
But, at last, the rest of the world came into vision, and he noticed the familiar disapproving gaze of Lady Aris', daring him to make a scene.   
  
"By no pleasure of mine..." he uttered mournfully, saving his tears of wrath for later. 

* * *

They were to be " _excellent friends_ ", yet she still wanted them apart. For " _safety_ ", she had said, confining him to his narrow miles of land that had not felt narrow until she had shown him the rest of the world.   
  
...  
  
He still hated her.   
  
He wanted her the locks of her fine, flawless hair braided into a pretty rug or jacket, like one of tiger or lion fur. He wanted her neck severed right at the collar, so he could capture its length, the perfect pedestal to a permanent trophy of her head he'd situate right next to his bed, crown and all.   
  
That being said, he missed her when she was away, finding himself looking forward to how she'd hold his gaze as they discussed, challenging him with each of her playful, eloquent words and sharp thoughts. Another woman would be slapped for holding his gaze like that. He'd tried once, and to his delight she had fought right back until they were wrestling with no regard for neatness of hair or clothes.  
  
Everything had changed when they'd met!  
From then on, his fog had cleared, and he decided to be smart.   
Taking up an interest in books and histories found him evolving mentally prodigiously fast. When asking for her test scores from his age, or even his fathers, he revelled to know that he was ahead. He would be smarter and stronger than her in no time at all.   
  
He did have providence on his side after all. 

* * *

It was at twelve years old, that Alex decided to move to the capital whether the Queen liked it or not. Research had revealed that the now 19 years old Queen's reign was not without flaw after all.   
Her supporters were divided, both within the court and out. Some believed in her cause, as the eldest, others believed the rightful heir to the throne was him, the male.   
  
It was clear who was right.  
  
Letters and tea meetings with these wealthy gentlemen made it easy for him to manipulate them. For him to arrange with the help of powerful members of the court, an escort into the heart of their world.  
  
Of course she was angry.   
He relished smugly in the shocked look on her face, carried in seated comfortably in the arms of his men, for once, taller than her. Did it scare her, than he had grown cunning, mature? Did it make her fearful of his threat? He hoped so.   
  
Yet her emotion were quick to devolve into patronising concern.   
He was scolded for daring to successfully travel in a war. He couldn't help roll his eyes.   
  
"Oh please, dear princess. Deciphering the safe pathways into our lands the assassins use is easy. Avoiding these paths, is twice as simple, not that I expect your helpless mind to understand."   
  
As much as he adored and respected her brilliant royal presence (it was what inspired him to grow into a more potent Prince himself) age had made him more aware of her many faults.   
She was a people pleaser, too sweet to her subjects and a fool for daring to extend the rights of her citizens. He could see now that many of her policies and endeavours were not her own, but the aims that had been pushed onto her by the ploys of her Lords and Councillors.   
  
_He resented them even more than her._  
  
Couldn't she see, they were manipulating her like a child? That was why they were so eager to support her and not him. Trust a simple, delicate woman to be pushed around. It was no wonder the country was approaching economic ruin. Why minor rebellions were becoming more and more common and less and less minor.   
  
In spite of his harsh thoughts, he kept them to his mind, allowing mainly kind or mocking words to fall from his lips.   
  
"You may think of yourself as intelligent my dear Prince, but things are not always so clear. The next time you disobey me, I will not hold back because of your special status, you will be punished."   
  
He bit his tongue, raising his brows without a sign of care. She sighed. He loved when she paraded like this for only him to see. Still regal, but in visible stress. Visibly human, visibly imperfect.   
He loved see that she was secretly a mess.   
It was unveiled to him in subtle things: the curls closest to her neck that twisted unevenly, asymmetrical to the rest of her wavy hair. The subtly peach veils of her puffy dress limited the movements of her arms, making her muscles stiff and golden pendant dangling between her breasts would certainly irritate the skin there.   
He knew, because when she pulled him in to wrap her arms around his shoulders, his eyes were glued there, admiring the stone at first, before noticing a spot of red, deep beneath the hem hiding her tits.   
  
A divine creature, having sensitive skin? How awfully pathetic. He couldn't hide his smirk but there was no need to with her hugging him.  
  
"I truly am sorry for causing you concern," he stated blandly, well rehearsed in charming her with forced submissions to her authority. She believed he'd grown out of his petty jealousy for her.   
Sometimes, he almost wished she was right. 

* * *

The bitch had moved him and Lady Aris to stay in some distant mansion, not the palace itself. Yet again, because of "safety," or so she'd tried to make him believe. In the past, he'd suspect her of just watching her own ass, knowing having a second successor near would split her authority and divide her court. Now, he believed she was just too stupid to recognise that she was safer with him there.   
  
He was smarter, he was more interested in battle, more tactical, less interested in wasteful charity or whatever it was she did.   
It wouldn't stop him from sneaking in to sit beside her on the throne, or sit in on her debates. A few times, calling out the audacity of her pesky Lords for daring to say certain things they'd said. Elyssia was far too sweet with them.  
  
It was brilliant to see them slowly realise they wouldn't get to toy with her when he was around. He grew to love the way they grew tense and austere in his presence.   
He realised he loved her one day, when they were sitting side by side on their thrones, his a little lower than hers.   
  
It gave him the perfect view of her outline, kissed by the inward streams of honey and magma light from the vast, open balcony. Her, two lords and a Lady were discussing but he had no interest in listening. He was entranced again by her expressions of power. Her blinks, her curly, silverish lashes, her emerald eyes, turned to golden flecks in the light.  
  
Their father's old throne was in every way hers now, enshrined with bustles of pink and blue flowers, the colour of her subtle accents today. Pink in her lips, cheeks, in the undertones painted above her eyes. Blue, in the delicate, slender networks of diamonds, sapphires or stones decorated across her collars, up her neck and down her dainty arms, as if weightlessly suspended by an angels invisible touch.   
  
Whoever had dressed her had made her too beautiful. They were too good at their job, turning something divine, into something he yearned to kill just to keep for himself.   
  
Shamefully, Alexander's eyes turned to the ground.  
  
He was conflicted; on one hand he'd fuelled himself on the model of competing with her, making himself better than her. On the other, he knew he was both better than her, and incapable of ever defeating her. She was just too flawless in her perfections. His entire chest, stomach and soul blossomed with love and complaint at the thought of taking her throne away. He didn't want to depower her, he wanted to marvel at her for as long as he could.   
  
But her leadership was getting worse and worse.   
Her council were adapting to her tricks. She was becoming more defenceless to their persuasions. The war was dragging on. The riots were lifting up.   
He wasn't always around to keep them in check. 

* * *

It was a night he should have been at home in his mansion, but he was plagued with thoughts of her crown. The wretched, marvellous thing. It was larger than any other crown, national or beyond. It was shaped irregularly, curving outwards as well as upward, like a peacock's proud stretch, only frozen in time by hard, slender gold.  
He wanted to take it, to try it on.   
  
He found the throne in the dark after patrolling towards it almost angrily. He didn't acknowledge any guards or workers as they silently opened the doors for him. He didn't feel content to see it sitting there, flat and dull without her bouncy hair below it.   
  
With a grumble, he lifted it up, tracing the patterns under the prick of his pinky finger. For a while, he simply sat there, relaxed on the throne, eyes shut, crown heavy on his head. Was it as beautiful on him as on her? Would it make men and women bow, petrified, mesmerised, and obsess with him? Would it make them lower their heads to him and pray?   
  
When he'd had enough, he moved on to simply enjoy the moon-kissed night.   
  
He had a bedroom prepared for him for when he did stay here. He was allowed to enter it, into the private segment of the palace only the top servants and guards got to see. This was holy ground. This was the site, where his Queen waltzed, and danced, and lay at the end of her long days.   
  
If he entered her room, she would be laying there now.   
  
He didn't know what spirit possessed him - if a spirit even could, he was a soul so powerful - but whatever made him push open her door, it was not him.   
Or perhaps it was.   
Perhaps a darker, more perverse, intense part of himself he'd locked away had finally shown its face. The room was quiet, dark, not a single candle lit. He dragged his gaze up and down along the narrow slit he could see, hesitating before pushing it open, dreading that it would creak.   
  
It did not.   
  
Even if it did, it would not have mattered, for the room was not silent.   
He heard sounds, breathing, moving. The ruffling of beds and sheets.   
The sight before him was so dizzying, it was as if the whole world has spun, twisting slowly, unveiling the sight of a messy, rumpled lacey dress. Elyssia's open mouth and messy hair faced the side, pressed flat under the rolling body of a man.   
  
Alex almost didn't breathe as he tore the man off of her by the hair, sword tearing out from his sheath in a harsh, loud slash. Elyssia gasped, shocked, eyes wide, rushing to cover her shame but he wasn't looking her way for once.   
  
The sweat-covered, piss-stinging ugly Knight reeled back in his grasp, trying to fight until Alex's sword pressed horizontally under his jugular. The low groan of shock and pain he made was gross, hidden by his own furious demand.   
"What the _fuck_ do you think you are doing-"   
  
"Alex no!" Elyssia snapped, using her Queen's voice, stalking forward, her brows down, not in the mood to play. "Unhand him. He is here by my consent-"   
  
"Consent or not you are not married Elyssia, your shame is my shame!" He bellowed, hot with fury that blurred his eyes and hastened his breaths. He could see the bites on her chest. Over the naked, fleshy tops of her breasts. He thought of this man's lips and teeth there, of his unworthy drool touching godly skin.   
The man was finding it harder to breath, a bruise surely forming under his neck.   
  
"I will marry her -" He grumbled, "I have... no intention of shaming her.. I will gladly give my-"  
  
"Oh be _silent!"_ he growled, growing more and more angry every second the bastard lived.   
  
"You will release him now!" Elyssia ordered, loud enough for all the guards, who were surely coming, to hear. Not that she waited, grabbing the sword herself and shoved her elbows into Alex's ribs, trying to yank his grip off the sword.   
It took Alex a while to realise what she was doing, he was so lost in hate. When he did, it took no more than a slight shove to have her flying back. He was stronger than her now, satisfyingly, only at 13 years old.   
  
The Queen gave a gorgeous sound of horror as she stumbled back and landed on the floor before him, her foolishly large dresses bundling up. Alex had had enough. It was looking into her pretty eyes, that he dragged his sword cleanly up through crispy bone and flesh. A sharp spurt of hot blood streamed onto her. Her pale dress and face turned dirty. It was so quick, so uncalled for, so permanent, her eyes were wide with palpable shock.   
  
Then, she screamed. 

Her scream could rival symphonies honestly, but Alex was too angry with her to care. She screamed again, stumbling forwards, shaking, crying, the world she thought she had in her palm collapsed.  
Her scream didn't bring him back from the dead. He lay there, still freshly killed, crumpling pathetically in the floor, cold and without life. He fell so hard he must have broken another bone. It was useless to try and revive him, yet Elyssia didn't stop grasping sorrily at his remains, agony wrought in her eyes.   
  
"What have you done!?" She screamed, so sharp and high and chilling, it made him close his eyes in bliss.  
  
Even with the metallic scent of death souring the air, he could relish in this memory for life. The moment there worlds were reversed and everything was a bliss in the night. He could relish in the sight of her, powerless and womanly at his feet, stained with blood, fear and pain.   
The guards stormed in, Alex calmly wiping clean his sword and sliding it back into his sheath with a pat.   
  
"Oh shush," he stated stoically, eyes admiring the outline of himself he saw in her reflective teal eyes. He couldn't resist reaching out, holding up her pretty chin and tilting it, so he had a better look of his own attractive face.   
"He tried to defile you, Elyssia." He pronounced, half addressing her, half the confused guards in the room. But as he wiped a speck of filthy blood from her divine skin, he lowered his voice to a hum only they could hear, "he got what he deserved for touching you. You should have known that you're mine."   
  
Even he was surprised at how deeply he'd said the word. Mine. He could repeat it again and again, he felt it in his gut, though he didn't show it on his face. Pulling back, he gently tapped her pretty face and backed away. She was facing him confused, maybe a little scared? Not long after their eyes broke, she breathed heavily and was a Queen again.   
  
"...summon my Lords... have Prince Alex confined to his room for the night." 

Confined to his room? Not a bad punishment for what he'd done to her.   
Clearly, part of her must love him too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 will come shortly 
> 
> I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
